


Steal

by Royal_Prussian_Fox



Series: Path Actions [2]
Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, First Meetings, Gen, Prologue Spoilers, play the demo so you won't be spoiled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 13:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15268560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royal_Prussian_Fox/pseuds/Royal_Prussian_Fox
Summary: Therion was about to find out that the amethyst pin he stole was a two-for-one deal.





	Steal

**Author's Note:**

> Dropping this now before I fall down the Octopath Traveler rabbit hole and am never seen or heard from again
> 
> Comments always appreciated.

In Therion's mind, the people of the world could be broadly grouped into two categories. The question was not really over whether something was worth stealing; everything had some sort of value for somebody. No, the dividing line between people was a very simple one: Was this person smart? Or were they stupid? And after many years of painstaking hands-on research, Therion was pleased to report that most people fell into the latter category.

Bustling cities were Therion's favorite: everyone was a stranger, and Therion could be a stranger along with them. But there was a certain charm to rustic countryside villages — after all, the people there were so much more wide-eyed and trusting, like babes. It almost made Therion feel sorry. Almost.

And Rippletide? Rippletide was a paradise. It was easy for Therion to hide inside the crowds of people ambling from stall to stall. There were just enough out-of-towners that Therion would be just another unrecognizable face in the crowd. There was no shortage of wares to fancy. The merchants had laid them all out, as visibly as possible, like a buffet with free admission. Therion could hardly be blamed for helping himself.

Like the middle-aged woman in the scarf, for instance. Therion watched as she haggled with the fishmonger over how much the cut of bluefin was worth. More accurately, Therion watched the amethyst stud pinned onto the cuff of her blouse.

Greenhorn thieves were drawn to gemstones like moths to a flame. Therion knew better. Gems were valuable, but they were easy to spot and difficult to dispose of. No matter how much coin they were worth, it wasn't worth the trouble that came along with them. More than a handful of not-so-artful dodgers learned that lesson the hard way.

But the pin looked to be the work of a true craftsman. Therion could tell, even from afar, that it was well-designed and intricately cut. It was worth a month's worth of drinks at a tavern, at least. He could already think of a few traders in Bolderfall who would purchase it, no questions asked. Besides, Therion had always had a soft spot for the color purple.

Gemstones were nothing more than traps for novice thieves. But Therion was no novice thief — and the proof of that was the amethyst pin now affixed behind his scarf, catching the setting sun as Therion left Rippletide behind him.

* * *

"Another," Therion demanded. The bartender obliged him.

Therion gripped the mug in his hands, and took a slow drink, listening all the while. The ale was important, of course. But so was paying attention. Taverns were a fountain of juicy information, and Atlasdam was home to the royal family, after all. There were surely things worth knowing. All Therion had to do was be patient, and let alcohol do its work.

"Hey, give that back!" a voice suddenly shouted. Therion took another sip of ale and did not turn his head. Acknowledging the voice meant acknowledging guilt, and Therion was not guilty of stealing anything today. Yet.

"I said, give it back," the voice repeated, closer now, and Therion _did_ turn now, because if a belligerent drunkard was going to engage him in a fight, Therion would much rather not fight them blind, and also most importantly, Therion was not guilty of stealing anything today. Yet.

What Therion saw was a fiery-eyed girl in simple clothes and an excessively pretentious hat so large that it appeared ready to devour her head. She marched right up to him and glared him in the eyes, which would have been more intimidating if the girl looked more like a wolf than a squirrel, and if her glare was closer to a glare than a pout. He had to give her credit for audacity, if not for observation skills. Because Therion, quite clearly, hadn't stolen anything from her. Yet.

So he asked the only question that came to his mind. "Who the hell are you?"

"That pin —!" she demanded, not answering Therion's question and instead gesturing angrily at Therion's scarf. "You stole — give it!"

Therion stared at her. "The hell are you talking about? I've never seen you before in my life."

"You —!" she growled, and snapped a hand forward to snatch at his scarf.

Therion pushed against her forehead with one hand and lifted his ale with the other. The girl flailed her arms ineffectually back at him. Therion took a sip from his mug. "I'm trying to get drunk, here, so if you could come back when you can speak in complete sentences again, that would be great."

The girl responded with an angry noise that most closely approximated a squirrel attempting to sound intimidating.

"Tressa," a man called out from behind her. Oh, great: reinforcements. Therion looked the newcomer over. Dressed in a cloak and waistcoat, he was as out of place in the tavern as Therion would be in the royal palace. And yet he seemed entirely oblivious to the fact that his bearing and garments exuded the most pretentious air of foppery. Had he wandered in from the aristocratic quarter? Therion could help him fit in with the commoners, if he wanted.

The foppish man set a hand on the girl's shoulder and delicately pulled her away from Therion. Therion obligingly removed his hand from the girl's forehead.

"I must confess to being just as uninformed as the young man over here. Perhaps it would be in all of our best interests if you explained what, exactly, is the problem?"

Tressa's glare did not falter for a single moment. She crossed her arms. Therion sipped his ale.

"The problem?" she repeated, watching Therion as though he might descend into wanton criminality at any moment (which, to be entirely fair, was warranted). "That amethyst pin he's got on his scarf — that's Ma's! He must've stolen it!"

Therion raised an eyebrow. He thought he'd hidden it well, but this merchant girl had a keen eye. Not that he was about to admit that.

"That is quite the serious accusation," the foppish man answered, frowning. "What evidence leads you to make such a claim?"

"It's ridiculous," Therion volunteered, because it was. How could some merchant girl possibly prove he'd stolen a pin from a random stranger a town away?

"It's _not_ ridiculous," Tressa retorted, cheeks puffing outward like a squirrel stuffing a nut into its mouth. "Pa gave it to Ma when they exchanged vows. There's only one like it in the world, and she'd never sell it. So if this guy has it, that means it was stolen."

"That's some imagination you've got, kid. I've had this thing for years now."

"Oh yeah?" Tressa challenged him. "Then you can tell me the words inscribed on the back, right?"

"How should _I_ know what's on the back of _your_ pin?" Therion said, neatly avoiding the trap. Tressa's face fell. Therion took a satisfied sip from his mug.

The foppish man tilted his head and frowned. "Not having done extensive study on contemporary craftsmen, I fear I am ill-suited to render a judgment. However, it does not seem impossible that two pins, appearing nearly identical, could have been made."

Tressa deflated. "But, Cyrus…"

"To err is to be human, my dear girl. It is only natural to make mistakes from time to time when applying inferences, so long as we strive to better ourselves at the task." He turned to Therion. "My apologies for the interruption, sir. You appear to be a traveler — might I ask to where you are journeying?"

Therion wasn't about to tell them he was headed to Noblecourt. Surely they'd take one look at him and ask why, and what was Therion to say then? "Why, yes, I'm off to steal a dragonstone, toodle-oo?"

"Rippletide," he answered, deciding that the town in the opposite direction was probably the safest response.

"Ah! A charming seaside town indeed," Cyrus exclaimed. "I have read that their wine has a particularly exquisite taste, and should like to experience it for myself — have you the pleasure of visiting?"

"Can't say that I have," Therion muttered. He shuffled closer to his ale, rearranging himself so his back was to them. This conversation was over.

"I beg your pardon, fellow traveler, but lies do not become us."

Of course it wasn't over. Therion glowered down at his ale. Then he turned and glowered at the dandy in the waistcoat. "What now?"

"Merely an observation that you claim to have never been in Rippletide, when verily, you have," Cyrus answered.

"Well, I _haven't_ , so — what are you doing?" Therion demanded, as Cyrus roved an eye up and down, scrutinizing Therion imperiously. "Hey. Stop that."

"Judging from your attire, you hail from Bolderfall. To reach Atlasdam from there, one must either pass through the Snowlands to the north, or traverse the southern route through the Sunlands. Since you are not dressed for the cold, it is evident that you selected the warmer of the two — that is, the road through the Sunlands."

"Not dressed for the cold? I'm wearing a _godsdamned_ scarf!"

"Which is why the tan so readily apparent on your face does not extend to your neck. When also taking into consideration the slight bleaching of your clothes, characteristic of exposure to brackish water, I must conclude that you traveled the southern road — which, as we both know, visits the town of Rippletide before continuing onward to Atlasdam."

Therion scowled. "What parlor trick are you going to do next? Read my palm?"

"As a matter of fact, I already have," Cyrus continued. "And I have seen upon it the clasp of the fool's bangle."

That blasted bangle.

"Of course, Bolderfall also has a reputation for the incubation of petty crooks and thieves. When all the evidence is arranged thusly, the picture becomes clear: a traveling young man, from a haven of villainy and with a clear history of theft, who for no apparent reason lies about having visited Rippletide, the location of the alleged theft of an amethyst pin."

"Do you ever stop talking."

"Why, knowing what we do, the truth is not at all impossible to discern," Cyrus declared, frowning down at Therion. "The amethyst pin Tressa alleges was stolen was indeed stolen. And it was stolen by the young man sitting before us."

The foppish man gave a foppish bow. Tressa looked ready to wrap him in the tightest hug she could manage. "And that, my dear girl, is how one applies inferences. Are there any questions?"

"Yeah, I have one." Therion took one last drink of his ale before sliding himself off the barstool. Tressa immediately transformed into a pouting squirrel again. "Do you two usually wander around and point fingers at people because you get off on it, or am I special?"

"What? Cyrus just —"

"Can it, squirrel girl."

"I'm not — squirrel girl?" Tressa repeated with an offended pout, and not at all helping her case.

"In case you weren't aware, people go to taverns to get drunk, which is what I was trying to do before you jumped down my throat. I've never seen your stupid pin before in my life, and I'm not going to stand around while you call me names."

"You're the one —!"

"I'm leaving. Don't follow me if you know what's good for you," Therion warned them, and strode away through the tavern.

"You can't just leave!" Tressa protested.

Therion swung open the tavern door. "Watch me," Therion muttered under his breath, and disappeared outside.

"Come back here!" the girl shouted after him.

Of course Therion knew that they would follow him. The dandy was oblivious enough to, and the girl stupid enough to. But in the wide open plaza of Atlasdam, filled with bustling crowds, rumbling carts, lowing animals, buildings and alleys and stairways and shadows, Therion was in his element. He could vanish in broad daylight. He was about to.

"I see him," Therion heard the foppish man say, over the sound of the crowds.

"Not anymore," Therion murmured to himself, and with a single swipe of a dagger, a wagon lost a wheel and tumbled onto the ground, spilling a spray of apples into the road. With another, a horse lost its composure and screamed and reared up on its hind legs, frightened and ready to put hoofmarks in whoever was dumb enough to get in its way.

"Tressa, you mustn't —!"

"But — but —! He's getting away!"

Too late. Therion had already disappeared down an alley, scaled a retaining wall, and hauled himself up onto a rooftop, where he concealed himself from view behind a chimney. From here, he could see the entire central plaza of Atlasdam, a small crowd beginning to huddle and gaze at the disruption. There was a desperate man trying in vain to calm his horse, and a woman collecting bruised apples from the ground, and a foppish man putting a hand on the shoulder of a merchant girl, who, even from this distance, looked like a very, very frustrated squirrel.

* * *

Therion was a master thief. But he wasn't a clairvoyant. And one of the things Therion did not foresee was how agonizingly, frustratingly, _stupidly_ persistent the squirrel girl would be.

He had waited until long after they disappeared from the plaza, presumably for the girl to drown her sorrows in drink. Therion had promptly returned to the ground and made for the city gates of Atlasdam. And there the two of them were: the squirrel and the fop, standing in the shadow of a pillar and so blatantly visible that they were making a mockery of the act of hiding. Therion pretended not to see them, and when they set down the trail north following him, Therion pretended not to see them following him. They darted from tree to tree, and rustled through bushes, and the girl even once tripped over a root and hastily attempted to muffle a yelp, and Therion, out of the sheer kindness of his heart, humored them and pretended not to see them.

But he did see them. So Therion did not go to Noblecourt, his intended destination. He detoured west, hoping to throw them off his trail in the Frostlands. He reached Flamesgrace by nightfall. And everywhere Therion went in town, he caught glimpses of a squirrelly face in a pretentious feathered hat, gazing up at the sky, or examining a haberdasher's display, or peeking out from behind the corner of a building.

"Will you do it, then?"

Therion raised his mug of ale and took a long sip. Even in a tavern, talking business with a woman with more steel in her voice than clothes covering her skin, Therion had a shadow. He eyed the back corner of the tavern. A feathered hat poked up above a table.

"…You said it was in Stillsnow, right?" Therion said. He watched the hat rustle.

The woman sitting across from him nodded, barely perceptibly. "Yes."

Therion considered her offer. His immediate priority was proceeding onward to Noblecourt. But he wouldn't say no to a little extra gold. And if taking a less straightforward route meant dislodging the ankle-biter following his every move…

"I'll do it," he said. "Half now and half after it's finished."

The woman shook her head. "A third before. The remainder after."

"Fine. Dawn, day after tomorrow. I'll meet you at the bottom of the hill."

"Why the delay?"

Therion glanced at the hat. "…I have some deadweight to get rid of."

"Hm," the woman said, watching him carefully. "I will take ten percent off if you are late."

"I'll be there, I get it," Therion snapped. "Is there anything else, or can I go?"

She stared at him a long while, then finally shook her head. "I will see you at dawn."

"Good," Therion said, and with a loud scrape of his chair, announced his departure. He made for the door, and was unsurprised to see a feathered hat wriggle after him. He walked down street after street, making turns at random and going nowhere in particular. He was still followed. Therion sighed. This was getting tiresome.

Therion stopped. "So do you want me to tell you when I'm going to piss, or do you want to watch that, too?"

Silence.

"Look, kid, I know you're there," Therion said with an exasperated sigh, and turned. There was nobody. Therion frowned.

He grabbed her hand just moments before it reached his scarf.

"Ow! Let go!" the girl said, squirming in his grip.

Therion let her writhe for a few moments before releasing her. She pulled herself away and glared up at him, rubbing at her wrist.

"Trying to thieve from the master thief? You're all guts and no brain."

"I knew it," Tressa said. "I knew you stole Ma's amethyst pin."

"Congrats. That and some gold will get you a cup of tea."

"Give it back," she demanded.

"Which one?" Therion asked. He raised his scarf, showing off the purple pin still attached to it. "The stud? Or maybe you meant…" he trailed off, and produced a worn journal in his hands.

Tressa's eyes went wide. Her cheeks inflated. "That's —! When did —?"

"Just now," Therion said. "Seems important to you. Want it back?"

Tressa glared at him, squirrel-faced.

"Lucky for you, I'm feeling generous tonight. I'll give it back to you on one condition."

She considered him, flinty-eyed. "What's that?"

"Stop following me," Therion snapped. "Whoever's pin that was — it's mine now. Get used to it. Watching you stumble after it was funny at first. But I'm tired of it now. So I'm giving you one last warning: Scram."

Tressa frowned. "Fine. I won't follow you. Now give it back."

Therion obligingly flicked the journal into the air. Tressa leapt after it and managed to catch it in her hands. She inspected it for damage, then, apparently satisfied, turned back to pout at Therion. Not that it would do her any good.

"Good. It was a pleasure doing business with you," Therion said.

"Same here," the girl grunted.

"Glad we're all happy, then," Therion drawled. He turned on his heel. "Don't start fights you can't win. And you won't win against me," he taunted her, and strolled down the alleyway, away from the girl burning holes in the back of his head, and fully expecting to never see her again.

* * *

Therion wrapped his scarf tighter around him. The job had only taken him out of Flamesgrace for a fortnight, but the air seemed distinctly chillier.

Even in this weather, though, there were a handful of merchants out on the streets hawking their wares to the handful of would-be customers passing through. There was a booth selling bundles of vegetables, and another selling coats and blankets to keep away the cold, and another selling an assortment of knives and other weaponry. Therion gravitated toward the last of them. Toward the edge of the display was a battle knife with a slim hilt, easily concealable. The serrated blade would aid in cutting, and the crescent curve would ensure maximum injury was inflicted upon removal. The metal appeared tempered, durable, and good for repeated use. It looked as if it would fit perfectly in the palm of Therion's hand.

He glanced up. The shopkeeper was busy explaining the virtues of an ordinary-looking kitchen knife to a skeptical woman. He glanced around. Nobody was watching closely; they were far too preoccupied with browsing or traveling home through the snow. Therion reached out a hand.

"If you plan on taking that one, I hope you have the gold to pay for it."

Therion stopped. He looked up. The shopkeeper and the woman were both watching him with more daggers in their eyes than on the display.

"…I only wanted to test its weight," Therion lied.

"Right, and I expect you wanted to see how heavy it felt on your belt as you walked off with it," the shopkeeper bristled. "If you're looking to buy something, you'd best tell me, or you'd best be on your way."

"Fine, I'm going. It's poor craftsmanship, anyway," Therion said, and turned away down the road, allowing the shopkeeper to bore holes into his skull. Well, fine. He didn't get what he wanted. But not even Therion was perfect. Some people were sharper than others, and Therion tried not to be bothered by that fact.

It would have bothered him less if he hadn't realized that _everyone_ was boring eyes into his skull. A couple on the other side of the street glanced at him and hastened their pace. A woman approaching him crossed the street to avoid him. A child ran out of his house right before Therion passed by, and his father snatched him up, pulled him back inside, and shut the door all before Therion could even finish taking a step.

Something was afoot. And Therion decided to do what he always did when something was afoot: head to the nearest tavern.

"I'm sorry, we don't serve your kind here," the barkeep told him.

"And what," Therion growled, "do you mean by that?"

"Means I don't serve folks who don't know how to keep their hands to themselves," the barkeep said, sticking his nose up — and boy, _that_ was rich, coming from someone who had his hands in as many people's purses as he could.

Therion bit back a scowl. "First of all, that's a lie. And second, who started it?"

The barkeep shrugged. "Hell if I know. All sorts of rumors float in and out of here."

"That's bullshit. I was away only two weeks, and now everyone looks at me like I strangled a litter of puppies. That doesn't happen unless someone's money is doing the talking. You know everything that happens in this town. Who started it?"

"I told ya. I ain't got a thing to do with it," the barkeep insisted with a frown. "And I got paying customers to take care of, so shove off."

Therion grunted in frustration. It was worse than he thought. Whoever was behind this had money burning holes in their pockets, _and_ knew he was a thief. Therion could count on one hand the number of people who knew he was a thief, and none of them were in Flamesgrace. That was a dead end. So who had more money than they knew what to do with? Aristocrats in their glittering regalia. Financiers in their flouncing cloaks. Merchants in their excessively pretentious hats.

Merchants in their excessively pretentious hats.

Therion scanned the room. At the end of the bar, watching him with a self-satisfied smile, sat a familiar squirrel-cheeked merchant girl in an excessively pretentious hat.

"Well, well, well," Tressa said merrily as Therion stalked in her direction. "Look what the cat dragged in."

"What did you do," he demanded.

"Oh, nothing. I just told Flamesgrace all about you. Like, _all_ about you."

Therion glared at her.

"Seeing as you're a master thief and all, I figured more people should know about your accomplishments. So I took it on myself to spread the word. Did I do a good job?" Tressa asked him cheekily.

"I never asked you for your help."

Tressa raised her mug to take a drink. "That's just the kindhearted person I am — hrk!" She made a strangled-sounding noise, pushing away her mug of ale as though it had bitten her. She coughed. She coughed again. She grimaced. "Jeez, _this_ is ale? It's awful. Do people really drink this stuff?"

" _I_ would, if you hadn't somehow gotten me banned me from booze," Therion snapped, because out of everything, getting in between Therion and a good ale was the worst sin.

"Oh, yeah, I threw in a little extra for that. Do you like it?"

"I like getting drunk better," Therion bristled. "What do you want from me?"

"Getting down to business? I like people who know how to haggle." Tressa took another drink from her mug, smaller this time. Left behind was a foam mustache. Therion bit his lip. _This_ was the girl who had made Therion's name mud overnight?

"Anyway, I think you already know what I want."

"The pin," Therion answered for her.

"Yep! Give it back, and I can make all your problems go away. Poof!"

"You know how I make problems go away?" Therion retorted, and lifted his dagger just barely visibly out of its sheath, in what he hoped was a clear conveyance of a threat, even to her.

Tressa raised her eyebrows, uncowed. "Wow, that's a nice blade. You interested in selling?"

"No," Therion said, slowly, because apparently he wasn't being clear enough. "I plan on using it for what it's meant for."

"…I don't think you do," she said, eyeing the blade warily.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Well, not completely," she admitted. "But if you _did_ kill me here in Flamesgrace, there's no way your reputation would ever recover from that."

Dammit. She'd called his bluff. Therion huffed. He sheathed his dagger. He glowered at her. Therion was not about to let some smug-faced, squirrel-cheeked, wet-behind-the-ears, alcohol-allergic, foam-mustachioed kid walk all over him.

"I'm keeping the pin," Therion told her defiantly.

"What? Why?" Tressa demanded. "Why can't you just give it up? It's not like it's important to you or anything!"

"I stole it fair and square. It's mine now."

"Fair and square? Pa worked hard for years, just so he could afford it, for Ma's sake! It took time, and effort, and, and skill — and for you to just take it because you felt like it? That's not fair at all!"

"Listen, squirrel girl," Therion grunted. "The world only takes from you. You want something? You have to take it for yourself."

Tressa pouted back at him with her squirrel cheeks and foam mustache, beginning to slide down from above her mouth. "Fine. Then those rumors aren't going anywhere," she shot back. "I plan on traveling all over Orsterra. And every town I visit, I'm going to tell everybody all about you. You won't even be able to ask for directions without getting run out of town."

"There isn't enough money in the world to pay off that many people."

"There isn't? I'm a _merchant_ ," Tressa boasted. "I've got a knack for making deals and a better eye for money than anyone in Orsterra!"

"Well, guess what. You're about to see mine," Therion retorted. He slammed a fist onto the bar. "Hey. Barkeep."

"I already told ya. I ain't serving —"

"How much did she pay you."

"I _already_ told ya. I ain't been paid —"

"I'll double it."

"What?" Tressa sputtered.

"What?" the barkeep stammered. He dropped a glass onto the floor.

"So tell me," Therion drawled, slowly, wanting to savor the stupefied expression on the girl's face as long as possible. "How much did she pay you."

"Er — 5,000 gold, but —"

"That's all? You're a cheap date." Therion rummaged underneath his cloak, and set a pile of gold down on the counter. The barkeeper's eyes bulged. "That's ten grand. Serve me booze again and I'll throw in another one grand on top."

The barkeep's eyes bounced from Therion, to the pile of gold, to Tressa, to the pile of gold again.

Tressa became a squirrel. She faced down the barkeep. "We had a _deal_ ," she reminded him.

The barkeep looked at the pile of gold. He looked at Tressa. "This is a better one," he finally said, and shrugged, taking the pile of gold with him.

She glared at the barkeep. "You —!" she chittered angrily through cherubic cheeks.

"How the tables have turned," Therion gloated.

She glared at Therion. "You —!" she chittered angrily, again.

"Thanks for playing, kid. It was almost fun," Therion said, standing. He patted her on the head. She scrunched up like a cat being petted the wrong way.

"This isn't over," she growled. "On my honor as a merchant, I will get that pin back from you."

"On my honor as a thief, I will never let you," Therion smoothly replied. He took the girl's mug from the table and took a long drink of ale while she vibrated in barely concealed irritation below him. Oh, _that_ was the good stuff. The girl clearly had no taste in alcohol.

"But if this is the game you want to play, I'll be more than happy to kick your ass." Therion dropped the now-empty mug back on the counter. "Bye now," he said, and turned his back on her, lazily raising a single hand in farewell and striding out the front door without looking back at her once.

Therion would not admit that the squirrel girl had actually been quite smart to threaten his reputation instead of risking a head-on confrontation. He would also not admit that he was really feeling the hole in his pockets, now that he had just dropped ten large to repair it. He would not admit either of these things, because Therion did not back down from a challenge. If she wanted to give Therion trouble, Therion would give her trouble back. And Therion figured lifting everything of value from her hotel room was a very good first start.

**Author's Note:**

> *crosses fingers* Full game, please don't destroy my carefully constructed layers of headcanons that I have already formed for these characters based only on one chapter of their story and three hours of gameplay


End file.
